


untitled

by TheWincestRiots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt!Sam, M/M, dubcon, hooker!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWincestRiots/pseuds/TheWincestRiots





	untitled

The first time he was mistaken for a hooker he was 14. He and Dean were walking back to the hotel they were staying at from a diner through a rough part of town. Dean was a little behind, having stopped to get the phone number of their waitress. Sam had just had a growth spurt and his jeans and t-shirt were a bit tight, but still wearable, he thought. When the car pulled up next to him and the window came down he’d stopped, thinking the guy was going to ask directions or something. When the guy leaned over the passenger seat and asked “How much?” while looking him up and down with a leer, Sam had been so stunned he couldn’t even say anything. He just stood there gaping, until Dean grabbed his arm, pulling Sam behind him, leaning menacingly toward the car.

“Fuck off, asshole.” Dean put a possessive arm around Sam’s waist and led him off down the street.

Sam was torn between shock at being propositioned and the warm feeling rising in his gut from the way Dean was holding him. He knows it’s just for show, for protection, but for just a moment it’s nice to imagine Dean’s holding him close because he wants to, because he wants _Sam_.

Sam starts dressing a little differently after that, inviting that kind of attention, purely for the reaction it gets from Dean. Dean doesn’t say anything about the tighter jeans, and the smaller shirts, sometimes with the sleeves cut off to show more of his long, still delicate looking arms, Sam thinks he probably doesn’t even notice. It’s not like he ever really looks at Sam, other than to see that he’s safe.

It’s been nearly a year since that first time, and he’s been propositioned dozens of times since then. Dean’s always been there to tell the guys off, and hold him close as he leads him away, body language screaming ‘Mine. Only mine. Not yours.’ Sam lives for those moments. In those moments he can pretend it’s true. They never last longer than it takes to get back to the motel, though.

Tonight’s much like any other night. They had pancakes at the IHOP down the street from the motel, but Dean doesn’t walk back with him after, staying behind to wait out the waitresses shift. It’s not quite full dark yet when Sam steps out of the restaurant into the gloomy blue twilight. He doesn’t really want to go back to the motel yet, so he takes a side street that heads down to a park by the river.

It’s a bit darker down here, away from the lights of the main drag, but Sam doesn’t really notice. He nods politely to a couple heavily-made up girls as he passes them, one eyeing him up and down speculatively while the other ignores him, taking a drag off a cigarette. The thought crosses his mind briefly that they’re probably hookers, and the fact that they’re not coming on to him probably means they think he’s a hooker too. He almost wants to laugh at that. That’s the look he was going for, right?

He’s still smiling when a car pulls up next to him. The window rolls down and a voice calls out “How much for a blow job?"

For a moment Sam actually looks around for his brother, half expecting him to be there like always, but Dean isn’t there. He’s sitting in a diner waiting to fuck some waitress. It hits Sam then. He’s never going to get what he wants from Dean, what he needs. Dean’s never going to love him, not like that.

"Come on, kid, I ain’t got all night.” Sam looks at the man in the car. Just an average middle aged man looking to get off. _What’s it matter, really,_ Sam thinks.

“Uh, yeah, just hang on a minute, I’ll be right back.”

“Hey” he calls out to the girls as he jogs back to them. “Um what’s the rate for a bj?”

The one that had ignored him before just rolls her eyes and turns away, but the other girl smirks at him. “First time, huh?” Sam nods, trying really hard not to blush. “Ask him for 25 but don’t take any less than 15. There’s a nice private alley a half a block down on this side of the street. Good luck, kid”

“Uh, thanks.” He says as he heads back to the car.

“And don’t swallow!” She calls after him.

*

It was easy enough after that first time. Dean was out most nights anyway so it wasn't like he needed to make excuses or anything, just waits for Dean to go out. Then he'll shower, taking extra time to finger himself open, throw on some jeans that are a little too tight and a little too low with a shirt that isn't quite long enough, cram some condoms in his pocket and head downtown.

He doesn't enjoy it, exactly, except maybe sometimes when a john is close enough to Dean's height and build that he can pretend a little, but it's better than staying in watching crappy tv and thinking about what Dean's doing with the flavor of the week. He can forget the empty ache for a little while when he's got his mouth or his ass stuffed with cock. And he's good at it, too. He always did learn fast. He knows he probably shouldn't feel so proud when some middle aged real estate agent praises him for riding his dick like a champ, but he does.

There was no praise last night, though. It wasn't the first time someone had been a little rough with him, but it was the first time he'd actually been afraid. The guy was huge, and once they'd gotten into the shitty motel room Sam was tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, his pants unceremoniously yanked down.The guy had just shoved in and gone for it, pushing his head down into the mattress with one heavy hand, figured he didn't need to take his time with a whore. Sam was glad that at least he hadn't been the first of the night. It could've been a lot worse. As it was there was no way he could go to school and sit in a hard plastic chair for seven hours. He turned his alarm off and tried to go back to sleep.

"Hey, Sammy" Dean called from the doorway of the tiny bedroom. "C'mon man, you're gonna be late for school."

Sam just groaned.

"What're you hung over or somethin'?" Dean teased with a laugh.

"Sick."

Sam pulled the blankets a bit tighter around him as Dean walked over, kneeling next to the mattress on the floor that served as Sam's bed.

"Go away, Dean."

Dean ignored him, gently placing his hand on Sam's forehead. Sam couldn't deny that it felt good.

"You don't feel warm." He said, pulling his hand away. Sam wanted to chase his hand, pull that careful touch back to him, but he just pulled the covers up over his head.

"Go away." He said again.

"Yeah, okay Sammy."

Sam doesn’t hear him when he comes in a while later to gather up the laundry.

*

It’s afternoon when Sam wakes up. The house is quiet and he assumes Dean’s gone off for his shift at the garage. He gingerly pulled himself up off the mattress. He could tell without looking he was bruised in half a dozen places from the john’s manhandling. He threw on a clean t-shirt and blearily made his way out to the kitchen, hoping Dean had left some coffee on for him.

He's greeted by Dean, sitting at the kitchen table with an indecipherable expression on his face. He gestures to the items on the table, which Sam recognized as his roll of cash; the take from the night before, and his small stash of condoms and packets of lube.

“You got somethin’ you want tell me, Sam?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

Sam stands frozen in the doorway. He opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes out. Dean doesn’t notice, hasn’t even looked at him, his gaze fixed intently at the things in front of him.

“I took the day off, in case you needed me. Decided to do the laundry even though it’s your turn, what with you being _sick_ and all.” He picks up the roll of cash. “Awful lot of money here for a kid who spends all his time studying at the library.”

He places the money back on the table, much too carefully, in Sam’s opinion. He should be throwing things, and yelling. _That_ Sam could handle, but not this quiet calm.

“What am I supposed to think here?” He looks up at Sam for the first time, and Sam notices that he doesn’t look angry, he looks...terrified, hurt. “What are you doing, Sammy?” he whispers.

“Dean, I...” But what can he say, really? That it’s not what it looks like? It’s exactly what it looks like. He looks down at the floor, can’t stand to meet his brother’s gaze.

But Dean’s up and out of his chair so quickly he knocks it over, latching on to Sam’s arm. He does it gently but it still hurts.

“Jesus, Sammy! What the fuck happened?” he asks, pushing the sleeve up to reveal more bruises.

Sam pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest, pulling in on himself, trying to make himself smaller.

“Nothing, it’s fine. Guy got a little rough is all.”

Dean is furious now, nostrils flaring, fists clenched. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Sam kind of wants to roll his eyes.

“Christ, Dean, it’s not like I even know his name. It’s not a big deal. I can take care of myself.” And mostly that’s true. If he’d really wanted to he probably could have put the guy down last night, but a fight might’ve gotten him hurt even worse, and really it just didn’t seem worth the trouble. Better to just take it.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean says as he steps back to take in the full scope of the damage. Sam has bruises on both arms, his thighs, and when Dean reaches over and pulls the t- shirt up just a bit he can see his hips are bruised too.

“It’s not usually like this.” Sam says quietly, as if that was some kind of defense.

“Fuck. I don’t want to know what it’s like, Sam.” Dean growls. He curls his hand around Sam’s neck, thumb just brushing his jaw. “This stops. Now. And I’m taking you to the clinic to get tested.”

“I get tested all the time, Dean. And I’m always safe anyway. I’m not an idiot.”

Dean’s fingers tighten on his neck. “No, you’re just a whore.”

Sam’s anger flares up at that. He knows Dean only said that to hurt him, only said it because _he_ was hurt, but it sure hit the mark.

“You know what, Dean? Fuck you. Yeah, I’m a whore. And I _like_ it. And I’m not going to stop just because you fucking said so. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. How many girls have you fucked in the last week? Only difference is I’m getting paid for it.”

He doesn’t wait around for Dean’s reaction, just spins on his heel and locks himself in the bathroom, turning on the shower.

*

Dean’s waiting for him in the bedroom when he comes out, towel around his waist almost as if he’s showing off his bruises. Dean’s eyes linger on the purple marks, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Fuck off , Dean.”

Sam really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He just wants to get dressed and get the fuck out of here, maybe go get drunk.

Dean just keeps staring at him. He never really let himself consider how it would go down if Dean found out. Now that it’s happened he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. He would have expected Dean to be angrier, to yell at him, maybe even clock him one. But Dean is just... shit he doesn’t even know. The way he’s just watching him impassively, giving nothing away, it’s really disconcerting.

He drops the towel to pull on his boxers and jeans, usually he wouldn’t bother with boxers, but there’s no way he’s working tonight.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dean says quietly.

“What are you going to do, sit on me?”

“If I have to.” Dean gets up from his perch on the bed to lean against the door frame, like he’s not even going to let Sam out of the room, much less the house. “I was serious when I said this stops. You’re not doing it anymore, Sam. I won’t let you.”

“What so you’re gonna stay in and babysit me every night? Right.” Sam doesn’t bother putting a shirt on, just drops down onto the bed. “What do you even care?”

“What do I- Jesus, Sam of course I fucking care! I’m supposed to watch out for you.”

“Dean, I’ve been doing this for over a year now, dressing the part for even longer, and you never noticed. You never noticed a goddamn thing.” Sam hangs his head down so his hair falls over his eyes. He feels the sting of tears and goddamn if he’s going to let Dean see them. But Dean’s kneeling in front of him now, too close to hide anything. He places his hands on Sam’s knees. The touch is so gentle, Sam doesn’t understand at all.

“Sammy... just tell me why. Why are you doing this?”

How can Sam tell him? How can he explain his desperate need for his brother’s love and affection in a non-brotherly way, and the emptiness he felt knowing he couldn’t ever have it? The need for something to fill that emptiness, even just for a little while. How can he say any of that?

“It’s not like I went looking for it, to start. It was just...people offered, and you weren’t there. You...you didn’t want me.” he whispers.

Dean’s grip tightens on his knees. “What?”

Sam shakes his head, this is all coming out wrong, shouldn’t be coming out at all, but now that he’s started it’s like a dam has burst.

“At first you were, someone would call out, offer me money for whatever, and you’d tell them to get lost, pull me close and put your arm around me. I wanted that, I-I needed it. But then you were always ditching me for some girl or other and I was on my own. They didn’t stop offering, and you weren’t there.” The tears are streaming down his face as he meets Dean’s eyes. “You didn’t want me. They did.”

Dean’s hands move to Sam’s face. “Sam...” he whispers pleadingly. “I didn’t... I thought...shit, Sammy. I was trying to protect you.” He sits back on his heels, and Sam immediately misses the warmth of his hands.

Sam shakes his head, not understanding.

“From me, Sam. I was trying to protect you from me.” He runs a hand over his face, not looking at Sam. “You think I didn’t notice how you looked? I noticed alright. I noticed and I- god, Sam, I wanted you.”

“But why-”

Dean cut him off. “Why? Fuck, Sam, you’re my little brother, and I _wanted_ you. I hated myself for it! I mean- how fucked up is that?”

Sam kneels on the floor next to him, close enough to touch, but not quite touching.

“I wanted you, too”

Dean closes his eyes, turning his face away. “Sam.” It’s so quiet it’s barely a whisper.

Sam reaches out, turning his face back to him. “I want you.”

He leans in slowly, until his lips are just touching Dean’s. For a moment he’s sure Dean will push him away, and he thinks it might break him. Deans hands come up, but he doesn’t push, he twines his fingers in Sam’s hair and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. Sam straddles Dean’s thighs, wrapping his arms around his back, holding him as close as he can. He buries his face in Dean’s neck.

“I won’t do it anymore. I promise.”

Dean just holds him closer “I know. I’m so sorry, Sammy.”


End file.
